


A Serenade of Mystrade

by stellanti_nocte



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drabble Series, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 03:51:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1154527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellanti_nocte/pseuds/stellanti_nocte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Mycroft/Greg getting-together drabble series, from Mycroft's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Happy Birthday to You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [johnlockhell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnlockhell/gifts).



> For devilwearsversace. Happy Birthday, dahlin'!

Mycroft shut the door of his car and pulled out his pocket watch, examining Sherlock and Dr. Watson from the corner of his eye. They were giggling—at a crime scene, but he expected no less from Sherlock—and appeared to be fine. His ridiculous brother should never have taken on that cabby alone, not when the murderer was a part of one of the largest criminal syndicates the British Government has seen. 

However, Sherlock might have gotten information of some sort out of the cabby for his troubles. A quick conversation ascertained that he had, and would inform him of the details later. He watched the two leave, John Watson hurrying to catch up with Sherlock’s long strides. 

“Interesting, that soldier fellow. He could be the making of my brother. Or make him worse than ever. Either way, we’d better upgrade their surveillance status; Grade 3, Active.” 

Anthea frowned next to him. 

“Sorry sir, whose status?” 

“Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson.” *

“Uh, sorry, this area’s blocked off. You’re going to have to go back around that way.”

Mycroft frowned and looked over at the man who had spoken. Ah, Detective Inspector Lestrade, surprisingly protective of Sherlock, must have heard him talking about the curly-haired menace…

“Yes, of course,” he stated, closely examining the man’s exhausted expression. Cheating wife, separated…he’s quite handsome…

Mycroft slipped calmly back into the car after Anthea, completely ignoring the rest of his incessant deductions. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to put a bit of surveillance on Greg Lestrade as well, if he is to be a close friend of John and Sherlock in the future…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *A couple of lines taken from A Study in Pink.


	2. Happy Birthday to You

He wanted to tell him that Sherlock was still alive. 

It was foolish, really. Greg was not nearly as torn up over Sherlock’s ‘death’ as John, yet he was the one that Mycroft kept worrying about. He’d broken it off with his wife again and Mycroft didn’t like the idea of D.I. Lestrade living alone. He never took care of himself when no one was there…workaholic, late night shifts to distract him from his empty house…

He knew those symptoms intimately. Mycroft frowned and looked back at the file open on his desk. He resolutely closed it and filed it away between _Hooper, Molly_ and _Morstan, Mary_. 

Caring was _not_ an advantage. He didn’t even know _how_ to care. Well, he did; more than Sherlock. It was simply that _when_ he cared, he tended to go to excessive lengths to learn about the person, keep tabs on them, and examine every last detail of their existence. 

It tended to scare people away. 

He despised introspection. On late nights like this, when he was the last person in the office—even Anthea had gone home an hour ago—it was harder to resist opening Greg Lestrade’s file and doing what he called normal and others called ‘stalking’. 

Mycroft considered the bottle of Camus Cognac Cuvée 3.128 sitting on the side table in his office. That particular brandy was reserved for times when he used material comforts to cheat his mind’s desire for companionship. It seemed the cognac was just what he needed tonight...


	3. Happy Birthday Dear Devilwearsversace

“I thought you might’ve found a…goldfish.”*

Mycroft wanted to cringe, but instead gave Sherlock an appalled expression and demanded they change the subject. Oh, his brother was smarter than average, but Mycroft could easily hide things from him. He was feeling immensely protective of this secret. No doubt Sherlock would enjoy the knowledge of it. 

The horrid idea of his brother attempting, in his socially inept way, to play matchmaker formed in Mycroft’s mind. He would do anything to avoid Sherlock’s intervention with his very delicate—nonexistent—relationship with Greg Lestrade. 

They've met a handful of times between Sherlock’s death and revival, all under the guise of work. There were a few crimes that had needed government intervention…not that Mycroft had needed to be there in person, but he didn’t _always_ mind fieldwork…

Sherlock proceeded to deduce his loneliness, much to Mycroft’s annoyance, and he wondered for a moment if keeping his secret from Sherlock would be harder than he thought. He made his escape quickly. 

His phone vibrated with a text from Anthea. As he slid into his sleek black car, he was treated to a photo of Greg munching on a donut while walking to work. The smile that flitted across his face was fleeting, but genuine. 

He saved the photo under his ‘Eating’ file and entertained ideas of cooking for Greg one day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Line taken from The Empty Hearse


	4. Happy Birthday to You

Mycroft stepped off of the treadmill and stretched, panting lightly. His phone rang and he frowned at the name. Sherlock should have been thoroughly distracted with the wedding. He answered, attempting to even his breathing. 

“Why are you panting?”

“Filing,” Mycroft stated succinctly. Sherlock ignored him. 

“Either I’ve caught you in a compromising position—“*

_Greg shifted against him, resting his forehead in the crook of Mycroft’s neck. He panted, flushed and glowing in after-sex exuberance._

“—or you’ve been working out,”* Sherlock finished. Mycroft blinked, shaking away the residual effects of that particular fantasy. He answered vaguely. When Sherlock inquired about his absence from the wedding, he replied that he would not be welcome. 

He would never admit that he simply couldn’t be near Greg in this state. He and the D.I. had formed a tentative friendship, bonding over their shared annoyance and care for Sherlock. That meant he spent more time with the man, which lead to more creative and detailed late-night fantasies. 

His mind had never run away from him before. He was experiencing new and uncharted territories, and he had yet to learn how to control them. 

Mycroft was of the understanding that the best cure for anything was to avoid it until it was no longer a problem. 

“Sherlock,” Mycroft continued their conversation before hanging up, “do you remember Red Beard?” 

A strangled pause preceded Sherlock’s frustrated “I’m not a child any more.”*

Mycroft said nothing and simply ended the call. It was best to distract his brother before he started pondering on the real reason why Mycroft wasn’t attending John and Mary’s wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Lines taken from The Sign of Three


	5. And Many More

“There’s the blind greenhouse in Kew Gardens and the leaning tomb in Hampstead Cemetery."*

“Okay. I’ll check there and report back,” Greg spoke hurriedly, turning to leave and rush around London in search of Sherlock. Mycroft frowned, noticing a certain deduction. He couldn’t resist commenting. 

“Separated from the Mrs again, Greg?” 

Lestrade sighed, his shoulders slumping. 

“Yeah, but this time it’s permanent,” he stated firmly. Mycroft nodded, deciding against asking for further detail; he’d learn of it all from his informants anyway. 

“You should pay attention to the time, then. You don’t keep regular hours as it is, and I know how hard it can be to remember to take care of yourself with no one there to remind you,” Mycroft advised, covering his worry with severity. 

“Yeah, I know. I’m just too exhausted to cook when I get home. I’ll have to buy some take out more often,” Greg muttered. Mycroft glanced down at the papers on his desk, an idea forming in his mind. He ran through the possible effects of the plan and was unsurprised to find most of them unsatisfactory. 

“Well, since it _is_ my brother that has you running about so late tonight, mightn’t I even the score by supplying you with dinner?” Mycroft looked up at Greg’s surprised face, mentally sighing. It seemed that these new territories weren’t going away with avoidance, so why not embrace them instead? 

“Well…I mean, you’re probably busy, Mycroft…” Greg hesitated, hovering by the door. 

“Nonsense. I’ll be worrying about Sherlock the entire time anyway.” 

Damn, he hadn’t meant to be that honest. He supposed the smile he got from Greg soothed his pride, though. 

“Yeah, alright. I’ll call you once I’ve checked those places, probably be about an hour…maybe two…” 

Mycroft smiled slightly and shooed him off. He stood up, fidgeted with some papers, and placed his palms on the desk, breathing deeply. He was actually going to cook for Greg and watch him eat…and then, maybe…more. 

Now, what to cook…

Mycroft grabbed his coat and called for his car, all the while searching the internet for foods that were natural aphrodisiacs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Line taken from His Last Vow


End file.
